Simplicity's Easy When You're High As Fuck
by xSheepie
Summary: It was easy and simple and then it wasn't and it was heartbreaking and painful. Ronan contemplates his and Kavinsky's relationship (if you can call it that). Rovinsky, angst-y theme's, K is sober as shit for once. I wrote this when I was thinking about who would get out of bed first and who would stare at the other, naked and ask them to come back.
1. We're Close, But Not That Close

Chapter 1?

Ronan stood, drenched, in the doorway and silently shed his clothes on the way to Kavinsky's bed. The other boy was standing in the window, leaning against the wall looking for all the world like he would crumple if his support was taken. Lighting flashed silhouetting him against the suddenly bright room. He hadn't moved from where he had watched Ronan's gray, shark nosed BMW pull up, cut the lights and break in.

"You're wet." He comments.

"And you're a fucking detective." Ronan retorted. "Are you going to stand there all night?"

Kavinsky pushed off the sill and moved over to his bed where Ronan lay propped up on his pillows, skin damp and inviting. Kavinsky pushed his boxers off and crawled up to join him, all sharp angles and pale skin.

Ronan kissed his neck and licks at the skin around the simple gold chain that is caught on his jutting collar bones and moves down. He nips at Kavinsky's pierced left nipple, eliciting a groan from the boy who arched into the pain.

Ronan smirked against his abdomen as he continued his work, eventually finding Kavinsky's erect cock. He gave it a little suck, savoring the bead of precum, fingers needing the Bulgarians ass. "Turn over." He commanded and K did as he was told with surprising little resistance which Ronan found odd yet ignored. His blunt fingers dug into his sides as Ronan rocked against him.

Ronan fished a condom out of the bedside table, momentarily crushing his fuck into the mattress before pulling up and sitting back on his heels, positioned on the back of Kavinsky's knees. He tore the package open with his teeth and rolled it out onto his dick with one hand.

He spit onto his other and wiggled a finger into Kavinsky who moaned low in his throat and squirmed slightly. He barley finish prepping the boy before pushing into him. He sat there for a moment, sheathed to the hilt, one arm looped around K's hips pulling him flush against his chest.

Ronan used his other to pull his arms above his head, pinning the thin wrists to the pillow, Kavinskys head bowed between then, open mouth and panting. Ronan fucked him, long and hard, the way he did everything. Kavinsky had never thanked him for being slow and sweet and Ronan couldn't really envision kissing the boy goodnight or bringing him breakfast in bed or even asking about his wellbeing.

That wasn't how they did things. They were mean and rich and dirty and sick and- and this wasn't love. This was loneliness. The longing for a warm body, a quiet, sweaty respite from the nauseating being that was required in Ronan's everyday life. This was a fuck. That was it. Ronan had never fooled himself into thinking this was anything deeper, more meaningful. He had never presumed to be under the blankets even. And being totally honest he was glad for the simplicity.

When he needed it he would crawl into the other dream thief's bed and fuck his brains out and leave. Or K would text him and Ronan would offer the solace only a tight ass and warm body could provide. They were only teenagers after all. Messed up, depressed kids.

Ronan felt himself getting close and bit Kavinsky on the juncture where neck met shoulder, cumming with a groan, leaving Kavinsky to his own devices. As he pulled out Kavinsky pulled off and rolled away from the wet spot. Ronan got off of him and went to throw away the full condom. That's when he noticed it. Kavinsky lay curled around a pillow, light from the window making him look gaunt and frail. His eyes were wide and staring. He was sober. Shit.

"You leaving?" Joseph whispered, his voice strange yet befitting the quiet produced by the break in thunder. He looked like a Joseph at that moment, Ronan thought. Not a Kavinsky, son of a Bulgarian mobster nor K, the title befitting the leader of a pack of dreamboys but a Joseph, an innocent refugee, wasting away on a diet of cigarettes and cocaine, lost and insecure.

Ronan's eyebrows pulled together. He had never stayed before, never been asked nor inclined. In fact they rarely mentioned it. It's just how it happened. What they did was a secret best kept under cover of darkness. What right did he have to burrow under the covers of Kavinskys bed? They weren't anything to each other, friends or otherwise.

They weren't dating or holding hands in the car or even making what they did real by talking about it when one or both of them weren't on some combination of dreamdrugs and booze. Ronan knew the situation had just become a lot less simple.

Joseph was still watching him, eye's bright and alert. Fuck. Why couldn't Ronan have realized he wasn't on something before he had done the boy? Why had he been so rough? Why did he care? Why couldn't he just laugh and leave? Why was K acting so pitiful and hurt? Where was the Kavinsky he knew, with so many painkillers in his system and a biting remark about anything, who would never have let those two words past his lips, indicating maybe just maybe he'd like more than a stiff fuck? A little company perhaps with someone who could understand him.

"I don't think-" Ronan started but stopped when Joseph look away and towards the window. He thought he heard him give a little sigh. "I have to be there when they wake up…" Fuck, why was he explaining himself? Why did he feel so fucking guilty? Christ...

Joseph was ignoring him it seemed. He pulled up the blankets, of which there were many, looking dejected. "Listen-" Ronan started again, already pulling on his jeans.

"See you in a few days." Kavinsky snaps and closes his eyes. Blindly he puts a joint between his lips and lights up. Ronan stays just long enough to watch his lips tremble against the thin paper before collecting his other boot and shutting the door behind himself.


	2. The Truth's A Fucking Drag

Gansey noticed it first. Ronan was moping around more than normal. He stayed in his room and blasted his music and wouldn't come out for hours. When he did it was for something to eat and he would make angry remarks Gansey didn't quite know how to respond to.

Lynch would stalk out, Gansey would say something like, 'do you know what number four is?' but all Ronan would do was yank open the fridge, grab a beer, slam the door and growl, 'just how the fuck was I supposed to know?' Past tense.

Other times it would be totally unprovoked; Gansey would be reading and Ronan would knock the text out of his hands and snarl something like 'who are you to have feelings all of a sudden?' at Ganseys protest.

Gansey was baffled. He'd never known something to bother his friend so deeply. And clearly something was irritating the boy. Gansey had seen Ronan angry, frustrated, miserable, destroyed. This was something new. Like there was an itch he just couldn't scratch, that if he couldn't claw out the splinter he was libel to rip flesh from bones for desperate release. Ronan was a nuisance with the way he'd hover, waiting for anything to justify shouting about fucking drugs messing with his head and storming out.

It had to stop. Gansey knocked on his door. No answer. No surprise. He carefully cracked open the door not sure what to except. Maybe Ronan passed out on the bed with the blinds drawn. Or sitting in a circle of broken bottle glass plotting ways to screw with Declan. But Gansey was in no way prepared for what he saw. Ronan was indeed laying in the dark, Chainsaw nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His eyes were open and staring at the buzzing phone sat next to his head on his bare mattress. The music lost some of its angry feel and faded to white noise.

Gansey's eyebrows went up. "…It sounds important."

Ronan seemed to will the phone silent because it stopped buzzing for a moment. "It always is." He murmured as it started up again.

"You going to answer it?" Gansey asked.

"Haven't decided."

Gansey stepped into the room and switched off the music. "What if someone's hurt?" Gansey knew it wasn't Declan because if it was he'd stop trying to reach his brother after a couple tries and just contact him instead.

"No one is hurt."

"You sound hurt. You're acting it at least."

Ronan's eyes nailed him in place. "I'm not the one who suddenly lost his balls."

"Okay, what are you on about? This whole week you've been acting like someone killed your puppy and then expected you too eat it. What happened? Lost a race?"

Ronan rolled over to face the wall, Chainsaw squawking indignantly at being unseated. She pecked at Ronan's shoulder before moving back to her cage.

 _For goodness sake!_ Gansey thought as the phone went off again. He snatched it up and turned it on. Immediately alerts popped up: **14 missed calls, 7 new messages**. Before he could see who they were from Ronan grabbed it from him and threw it across the room. It landed in a pile of dirty clothes with a thud.

The boys stared at each other, Gansey feed-up, Ronan mad. "Fuck off." He growled. Just then the phone started to buzz again. Ronan looked like he was about to scream his head off. Or tear someone else's off.

"You need to knock it off. Whatever your problem is, fix it. If you need help I'm here but this juvenile temper tantrum is now over." snapped Gansey. Ronan looked down like a chastised child. "What is going on?"

"Just a fucking booty call." Ronan sneered and flopped down on the bed again. He laughed a nasty mirthless laugh at Ganseys surprised look. "What, you don't think I'm pretty enough to have the boys' line up around the block for me?"

Gansey crossed his arms. "So this is all because… you like someone… who likes you back?"

"No this is because someone fucking likes me for no fucking reason other than he's a fucking shithead who likes to mess with people. You see the difference?" Ronan tone was scathing.

"…Do I know them?"

Ronan heaved a sigh of disgust, collected his keys, phone and open bottle and stormed past, nearly knocking an arriving Blue over in his haste to leave Monmouth. "I'll going out!" he shouted.

"Use protection!" Gansey called back to which Ronan slammed the door extra hard.

Ronan drove. Hands tight on the wheel, foot to the floor. He whipped through empty stretches of street, not caring where he went as long as it was _away_. Away from nosey friends and boys with feelings.

His phone vibrated against the seat and Ronan skidded to a stop, snatching it up before the car stopped moving. **12 new messages from k** :

 **hey fuckwad**

 **answer me princess**

 **i wanna fuck**

 **hey mofo**

 **you still chained 2 III?**

 **f** **uck him**

 **fuck me instead**

They went on like that. No excuse for last time nor anything to suggest it had even happened. His texts looked like they did every time he asked Ronan to come. Ronan hadn't expected any real explanation but he was fucking confused. If that's what K did when he was sober- acted all touchy-feely then- then what?

He wanted nothing to do with the Bulgarian? No that wasn't right. He did. He might even want, dare he say it, a relationship? Is that what K wanted? Or had wanted before Ronan had shut him down? If he was using again did he still want… companionship? Or just a warm body? And if that's all there was too it he had Proko and Skov and Swan and –the list went on. Kavinsky wanted Ronan, he was sure of that. In what respect was where he was fuzzy.

There was only one way of finding out. Ronan pinched his lips together, gathered his nerve and drove.


	3. It Doesn't Count, I Was Sober

Ronan arrived at the manor and for once took his time parking properly and straightening his shirt on his walk to the door. As usual K was nowhere in sight so Ronan made his way upstairs. He was nervous. Which Gansey would say meant he was dangerous, volatile. K would say he was a stick of TNT that he was going to use to light up the fucking world.

Ronan stopped outside the door which was slightly ajar. Should he knock? He never used to… but today seemed different. Felt charged. He tapped his knuckles against wood, resulting in it yielding the large room to view. He stepped in kicking off his shoes and looked around.

Empty bottles and crumpled clothes had been kicked into the corners leaving the room feeling bare and hardly used. K's bed sat practically bare off to the side except for a sheet. The rest of the blankets and pillows had been heaped together in a giant nest under the window where Skov lay almost motionless, smoking. He only had a pair of jeans on, low on his hips.

The light was on in the bathroom so eyeing the other boy Ronan makes his way over. K is bent over the counter, a white towel wrapped around his hips. When he straightens Ronan notices the empty pill bottle. K gives him a shit eating grin and edges past the other dreamtheif, holding his hand out to Skov.

The dreamboy hands him the cig and then stretches backwards, presenting his chest to K, who carefully shakes out a line and snorts it in one smooth motion. He gives Skov a quick kiss and the other boy dutifully levers himself up and out of the pile. He gives Ronan a slow once over and snorts softly. "Sloppy seconds." He mutters and closes the door after himself.

K is kneeling on the bed, digging around in the side table. He takes out a handful of condoms and shows them to Ronan. "For her pleasure." He tells him and pats the bed in front of him.

Ronan undresses on the way to the bed, slightly unnerved about what he'd just seen. He knew Kavinsky slept with everything that moved and of course his dreamdrugs would never not make an appearance but since our little meetings he'd been careful to not make a big deal of all the tail he was getting on the side. "Careful K, I'm starting to think you care." Ronan replies, sardonically, joining him.

Ronan gives him his back and waits for instruction. _He_ called _me_. _He_ makes the rules. Kavinsky lets out a huff of breath that might have been a laugh if it was anyone else. He gives Ronans shoulder a sharp shove with an encouraging, 'you know how I like it.'

It was true. I wrap the blindfold Kavinsky offers me over my eyes and lets him loop the white silk scarf around my wrist and to the bedpost, more a symbol of his control then anything that could actually hold me. I leaned down on my forearms, my ass in the air like I was a fucking slut. But this is what K needed so this is what I would provide. I open my mouth for when he pushes the colorful pills between my teeth, willing to take anything he'd give me. After all simplicity was easy when you were high as fuck.


End file.
